


chance encounters are what keep us going

by agentpolastri



Category: Killing Eve (TV 2018)
Genre: F/F, gay painting, in typical eve and villanelle fashion, pining but like
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-15
Updated: 2020-05-15
Packaged: 2021-03-02 20:20:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,118
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24192718
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/agentpolastri/pseuds/agentpolastri
Summary: It was hard to think of a universe where Eve and Villanelle didn't orbit around each other like galaxies due for a collision."What are you thinking about?""You."
Relationships: Eve Polastri/Villanelle | Oksana Astankova
Comments: 12
Kudos: 82





	chance encounters are what keep us going

The canvas was rough against the patch of skin it kept rubbing on as Eve’s hand deftly trailed a paintbrush across the surface. There were no hesitations, no humming and hawing, no _choices,_ only the sound of her own heartbeat in her ears and the near imperceptible rush of air through her nose. Faint peach blended into pastel pink that was framed by a carefully calculated shade of blonde. 

_Her eyes are sort of catlike. Wide, but alert. Her lips are full, she has a long neck, high cheekbones…_

Eve never would have seen it coming, and she knows this. The ‘it’ in question being _Villanelle._ All of her. Every single facet. How she would come to _know_ and _hate_ and _desire_ and _love—_

Yes. Love. With a pink and frilly bow on top. Accompanied by a knife. It was her trademark. Along with the thin line on Villanelle’s abdomen. The first time Eve had laid eyes on it, she hadn’t even recoiled, only observed it with the complacency of someone who was holding themselves back. It was like breaking the surface tension of water when she took a step forward and brushed her thumb along the scar. It would be there forever. Her signature with a heart over the i. _Love, Eve._

“What are you thinking about?” Villanelle’s melodious voice broke the silence, rough from disuse. It was amazing that she hadn’t moved yet from where she laid on an expensive looking… sofa thing. Eve didn’t know what it was called, all she knew was that it was perfect for modelling purposes. She had gotten Villanelle to pose just so, an arm raised above her head, carefully avoiding her hair that had splayed out in a halo. The light playing off of her skin really made it unfair, but Eve was determined to finish the painting. 

Maybe then she’d have her way and ravish her. It was hard to ignore the way that Villanelle regarded her, something like a tigress stalking its prey. Anyone observing them would have thought so. When Eve’s gaze flickered up and over the canvas to meet Villanelle’s, however, it was like staring at her mirror image. Two of them, circling the other in a twisted tango. 

“You,” Eve simply answered, finding no reason in herself to lie. She busied herself with cleaning her brush before she could stare too long, before she could fully witness how Villanelle’s eyes softened from the hard want that they displayed before. A hum greeted her ears, and out of the corner of her eye, she could see the way that the assassin stretched out before returning to the exact position Eve had laid her in.

“I didn’t think you were the painting type,” Villanelle remarked after a few beats of silence. Given that she had managed to stay still for the past hour—insert question mark—it was about time that Villanelle started pestering her. Eve would never admit it, but she had started to worry around the fifteen minute mark. It seemed like it was the calm before the storm. 

She leaned back far enough to hear a satisfying pop. 

“I took a few art classes in college.” The brush returned to the canvas. Most of the body was done, but perfection took time and patience. “I almost went to art school, actually,” Eve continued conversationally, pausing to roll up the sleeves of her turtleneck. This seemed to get Villanelle’s attention, because she immediately propped her head up. Eve shot her a dirty look, but didn’t say anything, almost grateful for the conversation.

“Why didn’t you?” Came Villanelle’s natural question. It was curious. Probing. Most of all, genuine. At first, Eve had refused to believe that there was an ounce of genuineness in the Russian at all. Stark and brutal honesty, yes, but to be _genuine?_ Care _genuinely?_ Wish her the best _genuinely?_ Perhaps not. It had made it easier to swallow the wrong pill, to believe that Villanelle was bad and a psychopath and nothing else. To think that she was a rabid animal that could be tamed and utilized like a tool. To think that Eve was the only one who could truly control her. That somehow, Eve was _immune._

Wrong.

She would learn that lesson rather painfully when she received what would make a matching set of scars between the two of them. In a twisted way, she couldn’t help but think that it reminded her of the red string of fate. The crimson leaking from her shoulder that day would spin and solidify to plant itself staunchly on Villanelle. An invisible tether, always to keep them in each other’s orbits. Talk about a romantic gesture. Shooting a loved one was the new marriage proposal. 

Eve sighed. “My parents didn’t approve. I didn’t listen to them for about a year, went and did all sorts of things,” she said wryly, and spotted Villanelle’s eyebrow wiggle. Deciding to indulge her for once, she stated, “You could say that I had to _find myself._ ” 

God, she really was digging herself into a hole, now. The amount of scenarios running through Villanelle’s head probably reached well into the thousands, knowing how her mind typically played out about these kinds of things. Especially about _Eve._ She thought of Bill, and of how he would have had a field day with this information, too. _Not interested in women, my ass,_ he would have said. He was right, of course, but she couldn’t find it in herself to allow him to have that satisfaction.

“I bet you found yourself in _lots_ of places,” Villanelle snickered, going so far as to wiggle her fingers in an undignified gesture. She dropped it and canted her head to the side, expression changing dramatically, no longer teasing but again shockingly _open._ Her foot kicked out from the sofa before tucking itself in again, her body curling in on itself ever so slightly, so unlike the swagger and confidence she normally displayed. 

Vulnerability, Eve realized. 

“I’m glad you didn’t go to art school, Eve,” Villanelle whispered, an unidentifiable look in her eyes. A thousand timelines where one of them had made a different choice leading to their paths never crossing spread themselves out in her head. All of them seemed dull and lifeless, now that she had the enigma that was Eve Polastri in her very hands. She would never be the same, and neither would Eve. Both of them knew it. They had tried to stay away from each other time and time again. 

Eve gazed at the canvas, at the painted blonde woman on the sofa intertwined with an all-too-familiar head of curly, raven hair, and realized something else. 

“Me, too.”

**Author's Note:**

> so basically i started writing this with portrait of a lady on fire in mind because,,,,,,,,,,,,,,gay  
> also we really don't know much about eve's past so i wanted to take liberty with that  
> let me know what you think!
> 
> find me at @agentpolastri on tumblr.


End file.
